My Days of Gallifrey
by Friendship-Bravery-Souffles
Summary: A young Time Lady's journal in which she tracks her efforts to repair a very old and very stubborn TARDIS.
1. My Beginning

**Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and friends.**

_**Day 006**_

Well, the newest candidate in my quest for a word for total screaming genius that sounds modest and a tiny bit sexy is "TARDIS Repair Worker." Or at least, that is what I'll be calling myself now, in terms of my official job title. Not _really_ sure it is sexy at all, but I do know that to work here one does have to be at least a bit of a total screaming genius…

That certainly doesn't sound modest considering I am talking about myself. But based on the training and test scores I needed to get in here it is certainly the truth. And I am the youngest person to ever do it, so maybe I have a right not to be modest about being clever at this point.

In reality though, so far nobody has actually let me _do_ _anything_ other than tinker with a few consoles. Guess they might take some time to warm up to the new girl in town. Maybe they don't think there is any possible way that someone can have the capacity to work on this stuff at my age.

To that I say that they ought to come and meet the girl who can.

_**Day 026**_

Okay, so maybe it wasn't a great idea to tell the Master Mechanic that "I'm the boss." But in all fairness, he was trying to tell me how to do my job; we're all Kings of our own Castles right? And… Well… He was wrong.

Sadly, him being wrong doesn't really improve my lot much, since right after he made a scene and had the whole work crew gawking at us, the Chameleon Circuit he so expertly demonstrated the proper method of realignment on sputtered and showered his face in sparks. It kind of burned off his eyebrows and goatee… And he can't say that it was the new girl's fault. That was all on him, and everyone around him knew it. So while he cannot technically discipline me, that doesn't mean he is not bent on avenging his lost facial hair, despite it being not my fault.

As my unofficial punishment, I've been assigned to Sector 74.5, also known as 'the Vault.' It earned that name because it is where all of the really old junk gets sent. The machinery down there is simply archaic; it is more of a museum than a repair shop. I don't even understand why we are keeping it all really; they've all had their day, best now just to salvage the parts.

_**Day 028**_

I didn't actually get to start my period of penance as designated by the Master Mechanic today. The Chief Engineer of Sector 74.5 spent most of the day trying to discern whether my transfer papers were in order. Because you know, someone with the capacity to falsify these kinds of documents would definitely want to get in here.

Later in the afternoon I was just told to leave for now. It would seem they are not used to new faces down here, no one seemed happy to have anyone else around and no one knew what to get me to work on. Certainly nobody volunteered to add me to their work crew. Mostly solitary folk it would seem and getting on in years. Maybe that is why they are here; these things were near to the top of the line when the people working on them were too.

In the evening while I was visiting Dad, I got a message telling me that the next day I was to report to Bay 11, and that I would be assigned to a total overhaul on a Type 40 TARDIS. All by myself. So much for hoping that the Master Mechanic's anger would taper out quickly and I wouldn't be stuck in the past too long…

_**Day 072**_

This machine doesn't like me. In fact I would go as far as to say that this machine has it out for me. The first time I tried to get into it, the key wouldn't work. I stood there trying it for a good 57 minutes feeling like an absolute idiot until I finally got in. And when I say got in its more like when it _let_ me in. Then I actually managed to get lost. It is a bloody cow, honestly, why would you try and fluster someone who is trying to help you? It would be like biting your doctor, nobody wins there.

I have no idea who managed to rough it up this bad, but the Type 40 essentially needs to be rebuilt. And I do like a challenge, but beyond the technical skills needed, as I said I appear to be locked in mortal combat with my subject.

Yesterday when I went to remove a part of the console, my hands got burned, prompting me to let out a string of curses that even the Corsair would be proud of… There was no way that metal should have been hot, the thing wasn't even fully integrated to the power source, I haven't gotten that far yet. I've spent the first few weeks trying to fix the Chameleon Circuit in it. I _think_ that I've got it working proper like, but it also seems to be a rather iffy still and I don't know if you actually took it out how long it would last.

_**Day 189**_

Well, it would seem that I can't really call the Type 40 'it' anymore, because she is definitely a 'her.' I'm not sure when this epiphany struck me, but I am very glad it did, because I am pretty sure that it stopped something else from striking me, specifically it stopped a very heavy metal beam from striking my head.

While trying to run a wire back to its source, I rather suddenly found myself on the ground after falling over something I couldn't see. While trying to collect my dignity and stand up, I was showered with nuts and bolts and looked up to see a metal beam falling from the ceiling.

I yelled out "Now she is really trying to kill me!" And the falling beam seemingly veered off a little to the left, and although feeling very scared, I was totally unscathed and even managed to find my way back to the door faster than usual. Maybe I am on to something here…


	2. My Ending

**A/N: Thanks to all those who read the first part of this, and a very big thank you to those who reviewed. I am very new to the writing side of fanfiction and really appreciate the feedback!**

**Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and friends.**

_**Day 251**_

Today something happened that has broken my heart a little bit. When I left the shop today, I got a message from the Master Mechanic saying that unless she had everything in working order very soon, my Type 40 would be consigned to dismantlement.

Yes, I am fully aware that I sound like a hypocrite. Yes I not so long ago I said this is all that these things were good for, but I was wrong.

I want to save her, I really do. Not because of all the work I have put into her, the literal blood, sweat and tears. I want to save her because she is… beautiful. I know in my head that all of these machines are alive, and are miraculous, but she is honestly different. As soon as I walk near her, I know she is alive. It brims out of her; it's a presence that cannot be missed, it always feels like she is looking at me. She never lets me forget it.

With the cold metal and slim casing on some of the TARDIS' it is easy to forget what they are, and to even lose the sense of wonder when you step into them and see that they are _bigger_ on the inside, especially when you understand the science behind it.

Despite my best efforts, I don't think she has forgiven me for all the yelling during the first few weeks, okay first few months of working on her. In my defense, she was being a complete cow and I just called her on it. I was trying to help and yet things kept on blowing up in my face, or shooting off smoke, or magically vanishing, or suddenly appearing such as that one time I opened a door and fell into a swimming pool.

The only thing left that I haven't been able to sort is the navigation system. And somehow I don't think I ever will. I know it sounds mad, but I don't think it is _supposed_ to work. She isn't a soldier, she isn't one to blindly take orders and carry on. She's an adventurer, a free spirit, she wants to see the stars and take the scenic route to do so. I cannot fault her on that.

_**Day 293**_

I am terrified. I am really properly scared. I've done something, something that is mad, but there was nothing else for it, and you want to know something? I would do it again.

Last night I stayed late in the shop, holed up in Bay 11, trying, hoping against hope that I could somehow get the navigation system fixed before morning, before the Master Mechanic came down to officially consign her. I was trying to find a spare battery for my torch before heading back into my TARDIS when I heard the alarm go off above me. I didn't understand at first, it's the repair shop, what kind of idiot would try and steal a faulty TARDIS? And an old faulty TARDIS at that…

That is when I saw him. The Doctor. He walked over to the TARDIS next to mine, steered the girl he was with towards the door, and started trying to get it open. He seemed quietly frightened; he must have known how serious stealing or trying to steal even defunct Time Travel Equipment was. He had to be mad. A madman that wanted a box. But then an idea struck me, and I stepped out of the shadows and called out to him.

"Doctor." He didn't turn around. "Doctor!" I called again.

Somewhat exasperated, probably thinking I was going to stop him he spun around and said "Yes what is it, what do you want?"

Taking a deep breath, knowing that I really should be stopping him, knowing that I was sealing my own fate, I opened my mouth. "Sorry, but you're about to make a very big mistake. Don't steal that one, steal this one." I said, leaning against the Type 40 that I had spent seemingly half of my young life trying to repair. "The navigation system's knackered but you'll have much more fun."

He stared at me in disbelief, but called back the girl and went to try the door. It opened, even though I know I locked it before leaving to search for that battery.

"Thank you." He said, the gratitude on his face was so genuine. I knew I would never forget that face. He shut the door, and my beautiful, so very much alive Type 40 groaned in a way that could only mean he neglected the braking system, but she slowly disappeared anyways.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I waited for security to come in and find me, which they did moments later. I was arrested on the spot for aiding and abetting the theft of Time Travel Equipment. This entry is being recorded from my cell, my trial is probably going to be delayed, I think that they are trying to find the Doctor before proceeding. I don't know how long I will have to wait, and I don't know where I am.

_**Day 363**_

Happy birthday Mum. I would have baked you a soufflé, but there aren't any ovens in the Palace of Justice, which I recently discovered is where I am. Well, I'm sure there probably are ovens in here somewhere… Just not where they keep the condemned...

Mum, I think this is the first time I am glad you are not here with me, because you and Dad have apparently made a daughter that is too beautiful to live. My trial ended up starting suddenly, and it didn't take long, I didn't really have a defense at all, and I certainly didn't have any regrets about my actions. Bright side? They never found the Doctor, or my Type 40. She has stolen herself a madman and is off to see the stars with her thief.

I should have gone with him, should have asked to go with him, should have tried to run away myself, or to hide. So much for being clever. Oh well. I think I have found the best word for total screaming genius that sounds modest and a tiny bit sexy. TARDIS. At least that one was. I saved her, and somehow, I think I saved the Doctor too. I hope they can run fast, and keep running. The Time Lords will catch up if they don't and then this will all have been for nothing. So run. Run you clever boy, and remember me.


End file.
